


Weird Wild Oregon Summer

by Magifox



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: AU, Gen, Mystery Trio, Romantic Friendship, Self-Insert, i'll update the tags as the story progresses, things might get more mature in later chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-04 12:26:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5334050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magifox/pseuds/Magifox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summer 1980: The one summer you would never forget - stranded in roadkill county, Oregon, and wound up being involved in the escapades of three men uncovering the mysteries of a strange town known as Gravity Falls. [Mystery Trio AU/Reader fic]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash Course

**Author's Note:**

> Mystery Trio AU/Reader-centric fic (hence the indication of [Y/N] - your name - whenever any of the characters address you). 
> 
> Follows some of the canon timeline events from "A Tale of Two Stans" but some areas have been tweaked and will be explained in later chapters (i.e. why Stanley is living with Ford, McGucket already married and having a family in Gravity Falls, etc.). This fic is also set a year before Ford meets Bill Cipher, the Portal incident and also the formation of the Society of the Blind Eye. (So, yeah, no Bill in this fic...at least no physical mention of him. *wink wink*) 
> 
> Lastly, the original fanon names of the Original Mystery Twins have been changed to fit the canon of “A Tale of Two Stans” (and to not confuse the fandom anymore).

** June 1980**

The radio squealed the guitar solo of “Born to Be Wild” while you drove down the highway, summer rain spitting at the windshield. Fragile contents stuffed in cardboard boxes rattled in the trunk and seats as your car turned at an intersection. 

Your first year of college had been overwhelming, not to mention it was your first time being away from home by at least a few states. You couldn’t wait to get back home and relax, enjoy a well cooked meal while chatting with your parents about your last few weeks of the semester. After that, you would get on the phone to get in touch with your friends and plan to meet in town. Then, you’d be working at your local summer job and getting paid. You had the whole summer planned out and come by September, it was back to school for another rigorous year.

You had been driving for a while, passing the Oregon state boarder at least an hour ago. Stretches of prosperous farmland had now been replaced with tall lush pine forest. You were kind of hoping for a spot of civilization soon. As if on cue, you passed by a cheery looking tourist sign, indicating where the next service station, travel related pit stops and attractions were. Another sign read in shamrock green letters:

_Welcome to Gravity Falls, Oregon._

You cracked a smile. Pretty odd name for a town, not to mention a tad ironic, but least it wasn’t too far away. You figured it would be best to gas up at a service station and grab a bite to eat before making another long trek on the open road. Better safe than sorry.

The rain began to fall at a constant downpour, so you flicked on the wipers. As you did, the radio static crackled between the upbeat tunes of Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now”. Groaning, you gave the dashboard a good thump with your fist and a second later, Freddie Mercury’s voice rang out loud and clear again just as the chorus chimed in.

Your 1970 baby blue Plymouth Valiant had been a high school graduation present from your parents. Second hand of course, but still in well working condition. You made a few good friends over the past year thanks to your driving privileges, not to mention a few who could fix the odd problem when it occurred. One time, it housed four sleepy drunk teenagers and thirty six empty beer cans after crashing a fraternity party. (It also housed four hungover and sick teenagers that following morning.). It was sturdy enough to withstand the weight and size of most of your belongings when you had moved to the campus and it was doing an equal job on your return trip so far.

That is, until you saw something large and blurry unexpectedly run across the road. You didn’t have enough time to fully react, but your foot instinctively hit the brake pedal. Your body jerked against your seatbelt as the front of the car crashed into something hard and sturdy, like a rock. Your face collided with the airbag as the back of the car jerkily bounced and fell back onto the asphalt. Something cracked in the back seat. Probably one of the more delicate boxes, but you put your materialistic worries aside for the moment while you steadied your spinning head.

“What the hell?”

You hoped that you didn’t hit a deer or, even worse, a moose. Those things were like a slab of concrete if your vehicle collided with one, as you remembered one nasty image from a road accident near your hometown from a couple of years back.

A loud guttural roar rattled the metal frame of the car and even your very bones. You were still recovering from the shock, but you could see through the cracked windshield two massive clawed hands clamping onto the crumpled front hood of your car. Metal squeaked as they tore into it like it was a soda can. You yelped, tugging at your seat belt only to curse loudly when you noticed that the buckle was jammed.

Whatever that thing was, it was definitely _not_ a moose. Worse yet, it sounded pretty pissed off.

You suppressed a gasp as the creature hopped onto the roof in one giant bound. Metal crumpled under its weight, and panic started to flood your mind as you still struggled with unhooking your seatbelt.

 _Shit, shit, shit._  What the _fuck_ was that thing? A bear? A wolf? 

Black claws pierced through the roof and peeled it back like a tin of sardines. Cool heavy rain cascaded into your now newly open convertible, just as you were finally able to unhook the seatbelt from its anchor.  You peered up, only for your stomach to drop.

The thing was at least eight feet tall, and looking like some kind of demonic looking naked green gorilla with clumps of red toadstools growing off its shoulders and long bone colored spines protruding out of its back. Long, spiny black fur coated it massive muscular arms. Its long bat-like ears pulled back as it snarled, its glowing red eyes flashing angrily.

You tried not to scream, slowly reaching for the door but the creature wasn’t in the slightest fooled by your escape attempt. It opened its enormous jaw to let out another bestial roar, showing off a display of razor sharp fangs among his two protruding sabretooth-like tusks. It made a swipe at your arm, but you quickly ducked. You attempted to crouch under the steering wheel, but you were soon hoisted up by the back of your t-shirt in one meaty paw. You screamed and thrashed about, managing to kick the thing in the jaw, but that only made it worse as the creature clamped both its hands around you and squeezed tightly.

You desperately gasped for breath, watching as the creature’s scorching eyes widen and brighten into a blinding yellow. You tried to look away, but the light was so mesmerizing that your eyes darted back to them. Unbeknownst to you, they were suddenly being bathed in its glow.

Reality melted from all around you, whitening out into…into...

_No._

_Nonononono NO_

You could have sworn this was just a dream. A nightmare, but… _Oh no. No, no, no!_

You started to scream.

_“Don’t look at its eyes!”_

The next thing you knew, you felt the creature’s grip slacken and you tumbled over rough asphalt and into the mud. Your brain felt hazy, your eyes stung and you could now feel something growing hot across one of your arms. You howled, writhing in agony and clutching at your forearm as the burning sensation started to creep through your veins. Something hot and wet smeared over your hands and your stomach tightened. It must have been blood, but your eyes hurt so much you had to keep them closed. Even if you could, you dared not to look.

Among the roars of the creature and what you could hear of a grunting male voice, you picked up squelching muddy footsteps bounding towards you.

“Are you alright-?” A pause. “Oh my god. Ford! _FORD! Get the med kit, now!_ ”

You could feel hands – warm _human_ hands – restrain your shoulders. You coughed several times, feeling pins and needles spreading over your left arm. You felt fingers pulling one of your eyelids open, but your eyes still badly prickled at the light and you couldn’t see the man who was tending to you very well. Another stab of pain as you winced and coughed again.

“Oh, _mercy_ ,” the new male voice murmured. It was a touch high and had a thick southern twang. “Y-you need t-to calm down! The poison will spread faster if you struggle – _Oh CHRIST!_ ”

“STANLEY, _GET DOWN_!” hollered another man just nearby.

There was another screech of metal, the ripping of pavement and more grunting.

“You better hurry up,” said a gruff voice. “I think trollface is starting to – _HOLY SHIT_!”

“What’s…what happening?” you whimpered, trying your best to push back the pain, but you could barely feel your left side now. “What’s going on? I…I can’t-”

“N-nothing!” the Southern man squeaked. “It’s nothing. Now, please, h-hold still…”

You felt something press into your arm and your fingertips began to tingle. Then, there was something else being pushed in…into your other arm. You cried out as a needle jabbed your skin and injected something warm into your bloodstream.

“What are you-?” you started to say, before your head began to feel sluggish. The man (men’s?) voices start to warp and echo from a distance, noises suddenly fading and melting away. You could have sworn you felt strong hands picking you up, just as gave out one final gasp of breath before everything was plunged into darkness.

* * *

  _“…?”_

_“…nothing…”_

_“…can’t believe it…”_

_“…back…good information…”_

_“Look!”_

You groaned, sensing something cool and wet dabbing at your forehead. Your eyes twitched at the sudden skull splitting pain colliding across your temples, biting back a hiss through clenched teeth.

“Hey! Looks like she’s finally coming 'round,” said a faintly familiar Southern voice. “Hello?”

You took a deep breath and slowly began to open your eyes. Everything was blurry at first, only making out shadows and the odd human shape in the background. Your nose twitched at an odd dusty smell, mixed with cologne and...alcohol?

“Hello? Can you understand me, miss?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but your throat felt like sandpaper. You couldn’t utter a single word without coughing. In a matter of seconds, you felt a glass of cool liquid being pressed against your lips. You didn't open them.

"It's just plain tap water, hun. It's alright."

After a cautious sip, you hastily gulped it down. You didn't realize how thirsty you were as the feeling of liquid settling in your stomach felt alien to you. You could see now that you were covered in a heap of blankets and lying down on a rather lumpy couch in some sort of stone walled living room.

Then the shapes slowly began to sharpen.

The first person you spotted closest to you was a rather frazzled looking bird-like man wearing small spectacles on his rather large nose. You could see faint grey hairs in his long, bushy light brown hair. You caught a flash of an olive tweed suit under a white towel draped over his shoulders, along with a dirtied up white dress shirt and overly loosened black tie.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighed in relief, dabbing his own forehead with the towel. He looked exhausted. “Just think, if we didn’t get to her sooner, she would have been dead from the neurotoxin.”

You blinked hard, hoping that the slight pressure would jumpstart your brain. “Neuro…What?” you croaked. “What just -?”

You tried to pick yourself off the couch for a better look until you thought you felt the whole room spin. Your stomach unpleasantly flipped, reminding you of the time at the county fair when you took a ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl.

“Now, hold on, there!” the Southern man squeaked, scrambling to ease you back down on the pillow before you were sick. “E-easy now, ma’am. Just lay down and relax. You took a nasty scuffle back there.”

“ _She_ took a nasty scuffle?”

You tilted your head to the gruff voice from the doorway, where a tall, bullet chested man stood, wearing a simple white t-shirt and tight dark blue jeans. Large ears poked under his greased up chestnut hair. A permanent five o’clock shadow plastered half his chiseled features, along with several band aids over scuffs and scratches on his chin and cheeks.

“Who do ya think was the one who landed that sucker punch, huh?” he continued, leaning against the doorway while gesturing to his white taped hands. “Who was the one who distracted that thing long enough for you two to get Miss Bystander away from being blown up?”

“Stanley, please.”

You thought it was the injury at first because you thought you saw double again. The other man scolding ‘Stanley’ was almost identical in appearance.

Almost.

Unlike Stanley, the man’s face was clean shaven and a bit rounder around the jawline. His hair was significantly longer, fluffier and shaggier. Thick black framed glasses added at least five years to his features and a studious air to his persona. His build was less athletic and more average Joe, donning a black t-shirt over his thin frame and beige khakis.

You felt a headache coming on. Too many people. Too many things going on at once. Maybe it was better to ask simple questions for now.

“H-how long was I out for?” you asked slowly.

“Well, judging by the tranquilizers, I’d say a good eight hours,” answered Stanley’s twin, adjusting his glasses.

Your stomach tightened as your voice hitched. “ _Trenquil-!_ ”

“It was the only thing that we had to sedate you while we administered the antidote,” explained the bird man, now using the damp washcloth to dab at his forehead. “Otherwise, the poison would have worked its way faster into your system and you would have had stopped breathing entirely.” An awkward pause. “S-sorry. A little spur of the moment thing and all that.”

“The-?” You stopped yourself to replay over your day in your mind. You were on the road on your way back home from college and then… _wow_. It seemed a little too real, like a really vivid nightmare. You remember it raining and then something came out of the woods and…

“Okay. What… _exactly_ happened?” you groaned, pinching between your eyes to hopefully push back some of the pain currently throbbing in your skull.

The bird man fiddled with his tie. “Well, your car crashed. Well, actually, _it_ crashed into your car.”

Stanley rolled his eyes. “Jeez, I told you not to look into its eyes, kid!”

“It?” you repeated. “What was ‘it’? Could have sworn it was a bear-”

“It was a gremloblin,” Stanley’s twin explained. “Part gremlin, part goblin. Named it myself. Nasty brute if I ever saw one. Even nastier after it got drenched in the rain.” The man paused and turned his attention to the man in the suit. His face had suddenly lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “Did you get a good look at those spikes, Fiddleford? And those _wings!_ They must have been, what? Five? Six feet long?”

The bird man - Fiddleford (what kind of hick name was _Fiddleford_?) - rolled his eyes and frowned. “I honestly didn’t get a good look at as we were running for our lives from that _explosion_ -”

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re not making any sense,” you moaned, nursing your temples. “And I think I’m the one with head trauma.”

“Look, the point is, we rescued you from becoming monster chow and we brought you back here to my brother’s place, okay?” Stanley grunted, folding his arms across his chest. “Be happy you’re alive and kicking.”

This was getting ridiculous. Monsters? Surely, these guys were crackpots. You didn’t know the time, but your intuition (and seeing fatigue around the men’s eyes) told you that it must have been late.

And then the other important thought immediately came back to mind.

“What about my car?”

The three men fell silent, giving each other awkward side glances.

Stanley’s twin anxiously rubbed the back of his head. “Look, um, we found out during the fight that the gremloblin could actually breathe _fire_ and, um, well-”

“Your ride’s pretty much scrap metal, kid,” Stanley finished flatly.

This time you bolted up from the sofa, ignoring the oncoming slam of mind spinning in your suddenly growing blind rage. _“What?”_

“T-that’s not true!” Fiddleford stammered, passively waving his hands about. “Last time I checked, the car’s frame was still intact along with some of its parts. As for the contents…” He fidgeted with his glasses. “Ah, well…not so much.”

“We managed to salvage a few boxes from the wreck, but most of them are burned beyond repair,” Stanley’s twin added.

That was the final kicker.

 _“I don’t believe this!”_ You forced yourself off the sofa, doing your best to aggressively stand without passing out. “Are you telling me that all of this is _your_ fault?”

The twin seemed to shrink a little bit from your sudden outburst and your increasingly imposing glare, despite being on the other side of the room. “W-well, no. It was the gremloblin-”

“L-l-look, I-I’m sure your insurance will cover most of the damages-” Fiddleford began, but Stanley merely scoffed.

“Right. I’m sure her insurance will cover against eight foot tall fire breathing monsters. If she even _has_ insurance, that is.”

You were so angry at this point, you could have been shooting literal daggers out of your eyes at the spectacled twin. You gritted your teeth. “Fix. This. _Now._ ”

Stanley’s twin bit his lip. “Well…I can’t.”

“What do you mean you-?”

“I _mean_ , I can’t do anything until all the right parts are shipped. Believe me. We spoke to a mechanic earlier and at best, with the way services travel through a small town like this, it will probably take about a couple of weeks, maybe even a month tops.”

“A month. A _month_?” You were about to storm up to him and punch him in the face, but your feet shuffled as the rush of nausea creeped up on you and had to dizzily settle back onto the couch. You nursed your head in your hands and groaned.

A month. _Terrific._

The twin attempted to put on his best confident smile while under pressure. “Not to worry. There’s a local motel just in town. They can fix you up a room-”

“Um, Ford?” Fiddleford interrupted, gingerly handing a bucket to you as a precaution. “The motel’s being renovated and fumigated after this past Monday’s ‘inspection’, _remember_?”

“Oh...yes. Forgot about that one. Hmm…”

“What happened?” you asked.

“Roach problem,” Stanley answered simply. “ _Really_ bad roach problem.”

“How bad?”

“’About the size of a miniature poodle’ bad.”

You grimaced as the man gestured to the length of his arm. _Gross._ Surely he was exaggerating. No cockroach in existence could be that big, unless if it was in some kind of hokey sci-fi flick...or near a power plant.

“Well, she can’t stay with me,” said Fiddleford, picking himself off his chair and straightening his tie. “I don’t have any extra rooms. And I don’t think it would be good for my son…”

“Then, that settles it,” Stanley sighed, dusting off his hands. “Looks like you’re staying with us.”

In the instant that Stan finished his last syllable, Ford wheeled around, mouth dropping open like a dead fish. Then he gave an imposing look at his brother, which Stanley took relatively well since he was not affected in the slightest.

“Stanley, she can’t stay here!” he hissed. “My research-!”

“Well, it looks like _you’re_ going to have to accommodate her around your busy schedule, Poindexter.” Stanley prodded a finger at his brother’s chest. “ _I’m_ not throwing the kid out.”

“Excuse me. I’m not a kid,” you protested. “And I have a _name_ , you know.”

“I know, [YN].” Stanley fished out a black wallet from one of the back pockets of his jeans and unfolded it, thumbing through its contents. Upon a second glance, you recognized that it was yours. You were about to chew him out about stealing your wallet while you were unconscious, before he put up a hand.

“I didn’t take anything. I just needed it to know who you were, that’s all.” He chuckled. “Nice mugshot, by the way.” He flashed your driver’s licence with a grin. Another groan from you. Your picture was taken at least a year and a half ago while you were still in high school and you had drastically changed since then, especially the dreadful haircut. Satisfied, Stanley tossed the wallet beside you on the couch.

“And just _how_ will I be paying for these repairs?” you pressed, already dreading the amount of zeroes on the final total of the bill. You barely had any cash left on you, probably only less than two hundred dollars stashed away in your bank account. It was probably cheaper to rent a car (or… not, because of gas and then, the fact of how the hell would you return the car after) or even hitchhike back home at this point (to which that following thought was worse when you imagined being taken hostage by some maniac with a knife).

“We’ll take care of it,” Ford assured her. “Stanley made a good deal with the mechanic.”

“And deal, he meant _bribe_ , I presume?” Fiddleford said stiffly, eying Stanley somewhat like a condescending parent. “Or was it another rigged poker game?”

Stanley snorted. “You can’t prove anything, nerd.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Ford coughed. “Since it looks like you’ll be… staying with us for a while, I have a proposition.”

 _Oh this will be good._ You crossed your arms and leaned back against the couch. “Then, spill.”

“I would like you to keep an eye on the house and do the odd errand for us... once you’ve fully recovered, that is…”

“That’s it? What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Most of us are pretty much occupied with our activities for most of the day…and sometimes nights too, so we tend to lose track of meals and cleaning regiments from time to time and-”

“What my nerdy brother is trying to say is he’s hiring you on as our maid,” Stanley butted in, placing a hand on Ford’s shoulder.

You raised an eyebrow. _“Excuse me?”_

“I didn’t mean it like-!” Ford hissed, shoving his brother’s hand away in protest. At this point, he seemed to be at his wit’s end as he groaned. “He meant _caretaker_. Getting back to the point, room and board can be easily arranged. We can discuss food later.”

“And what do I owe you out of this?” you inquired.

“Not a cent. Consider this an apology for getting you into this mess in the first place.”                                                     

You considered the man’s proposition. At least you would have a roof over your head and proper food to eat, even though you would have to share with three guys. You figured you could handle that easily after what you had just gone through. There could have been worse things – like living it up in the woods where that gremlin-thing could be roaming about or being dead.

“Well, I guess I don’t have that much of a choice,” you answered, scratching at the right side of your face where a large bandage was plastered over your cheek. “And you guys did kind of save me and patched me up, so what the heck. Thanks, Mister…?”

“Pines,” Ford replied, but then waved a hand and laughed. “Oh, but don’t call _us_ Mr. Pines. That’s our dad. I’m Stanford, or Ford, if you prefer.” He smirked and punched the other man’s shoulder. “And this knucklehead here is my twin brother, Stanley."

“Twins?” Guess you weren’t far off. “So…you’re both called Stan?”

“Best not to call them that if they’re in the same room together. It gets a little too confusing, particularly when you’re asking to pass the salt. Trust me.” Fiddleford held out a hand with a twitchy smile. “Fiddleford McGucket.”

“You can just call him ‘nerd’, for short,” Stanley teased, grinning. “’Least I do anyway.”

You ignored Stanley’s comment. He already reminded you of the thick headed jocks back in high school and even some of the local college frat boys. You’d think for a grown man, he would have grown up a bit. You gently took Fiddleford’s clammy hand and shakily returned the gesture with a brief smile.

“I…I remember now. You were the one who…!” You paused, softly smiled and gave a sigh of thankful relief. “Thank you. Are you a doctor?”

Fiddleford bristled as he adjusted his round spectacles. “Golly, no! I’m more of an inventor of sorts, but to be fair, I did take a basic medical studies class in college so I -”

Stanley roared with laughter while he pulled the professor into a one armed hug. “What did I tell ya? What a nerd!”

“Ignore him,” Fiddleford grumbled. “He’s always like this when he’s pumped up after a monster hunt.”

“I wouldn’t blame him,” you muttered.

Another cough from Ford broke up the group conversation, as well as Stanley’s grip on Fiddleford’s neck.

“Yes, well, since we got the introductions out of the way, we should probably let you rest,” Ford said. “You’ve gone through quite a shock. You’re lucky you got out with just some minor scrapes.”

“No kidding.” You clutched at your head and bit back a sudden stab of pain. “Do you guys have any Aspirin? I feel like my skull is gonna break in two.”

“I’ll grab it,” Stanley yawned. “And after that, I’m gonna grab some shuteye. You nerds better get some sleep too.” He gestured to the two men with the familiar ‘I’m watching you’ motion with his fingers. Stanford and Fiddleford said their goodnights and headed out through the other doorway on the left side of the room.

When the other two men were gone, Stanley turned his gaze back to you. For a moment, it seemed like his tough guy facade softened and he actually smiled sincerely.

“Best take it easy for tonight, kid. I’m…glad that you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” you answered, smiling weakly back. “Looks like you went a few rounds. Hate to see the other guy.”

Stanley chuckled. “How about I’ll tell ya all about it whenever you decide to get up?”

You shrugged. “Sure. Why not? Maybe you could teach me some moves?”

Stanley scratched his sides and yawned again. Looked like the fight took its toll on him too. “I’ll think about it.” Stanley walked out of the room, only to pop his head back in ten seconds later. “Oh yeah, and if you need to puke and you happen to miss the bucket, don’t worry. Feel free to make a mess on the rug.” He pointed to the odd teal and yellow shag carpet on the floor. “I’ve been telling Ford to get rid of that ugly thing for months, but he keeps saying he’s doing something with it.”

“Gross!” You laughed a little too hard, then suddenly regretted it as you winced and held your aching sides.

Stanley uneasily sucked through his teeth. “Right. Aspirin. Be right back.”

He hastily darted out of view, muttering to himself while he went to find the medicine. You decided to settle yourself down on your back on the couch and set the bucket close to you on the floor. When you felt like you were finally comfortable, you let yourself stare at the blank ceiling. You groaned, running your hands down the sides of your face before they flopped down at your sides.

It looked like your perfectly planned summer vacation was going to take a detour. 

You just hoped it wasn’t going to be a long one.


	2. Coffee Break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings start with breakfast (with a side of exposition and A LOT of coffee).

Hours later, you awoke to the smell of freshly brewed coffee.

Despite the mind numbing pain you had endured before, you had at least grabbed a few hours of sleep without any interruption. Thank God for pain killers. However, sleeping on that couch wasn’t doing any wonders for your neck, feeing a tight kink when you tried to turn your head. You slowly hauled yourself up, letting out a yawn before stretching stiff, sore limbs and hearing a satisfied loud crack from your spine.

The room didn’t seem to spin anymore, so you took your time trying to walk again. You stumbled a couple of times due to bruised muscles but a minor setback, while you followed the scent into a small kitchen just around the corner.

A cool breeze blew in from an open window near the kitchen table. It was relaxing and fresh, nature beating away the stuffiness out of the house with the faint aroma of dried leaves and pine needles. The sun was up early.

You checked a clock mounted above the stove, astounded to see that it was only 7:30am. You had guessed that the incident only happened yesterday in the mid-afternoon. How many hours of sleep _did_ you grab anyway?

A husky cough from the doorway got your attention. Stanley yawned while he lumbered over to the coffee maker on the counter, bearing a white wife beater and a pair of faded red sweatpants. Even though his hair was shorter than his brother’s, it was still as fluffy and slightly curly without the use of hair product. He scratched the back of his neck and then squinted at you.

“’Morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he grunted.

“’Morning,” you mumbled, rubbing the grit out of your eyes while you sat down at the table.

“How’s your noggin doing?”

“A little better.” You reflexively touched the bandage wrapped around your head and winced. “Light headache right now, but I’m okay.”

“Good to hear.” He gestured to the coffee pot, sloshing its dark contents around. “Want some?”

You nodded. Stan pulled out three white mugs from one of the cupboards. “We’re out of milk. That okay?”

“I just need sugar.” You really couldn’t handle black coffee, especially the one time that somehow the student café’s remaining supply of creamer and sugar packets were spoiled by a faulty refrigerator and a pipeline leak in the storage room.

He handed you your mug and a teaspoon, as well as a white sugar bowl from the same cupboard.

The kitchen really had a great view - seeing the morning sun just touching the tips of the pines and spotting the odd red squirrel skittering across the dirt path. You could even hear a woodpecker from not too far away. You admired the peaceful woodland scenery and stirred your drink, trying not to make too much noise with your spoon to scare off a nearby chipmunk who was slowly climbing up the side of the house.

“It’s really something, huh?” Stan observed.

“Yeah,” you answered back, licking your spoon. “I kind of get why Stanford wanted to live out here. It’s really peaceful.”

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice, save for being eaten alive from all the bugs around here. I prefer the city, if it’s all the same to you. Don’t have to worry about mosquitos.” You watched him fill up another two mugs after smacking his shoulder from a supposed insect bite.

“You and your brother?” you mused.

“What about?”

“The coffee?”

“Oh! No. It’s for Ford and Fiddlenerd.”

“He’s still here? I thought he went back home.”

Stan chuckled. “Yeah. Those dorks can’t keep their noses out of a textbook for two minutes. They get so wrapped up with all their science stuff, they sometimes tend to sleep in their work.” He paused to take a sip of the remaining dark liquid from the pot and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grimacing at the taste.

"I remember once seeing my brother’s face was half covered in some kind of green stuff because he went on a nature walk, brought back a jar of pond slime and accidentally slept in a sample that he was studying. I thought he was just trying out some kind of newfangled mud mask. Turns out it was some kind of living slime. Almost suffocated him if I hadn’t gotten there in time and used the fire extinguisher on it…well, him. You should have been there when McGucket decided to chew him out on lab safety. He almost got to the point of hysterics that he was squawking like a spring chicken!”

You giggled. “So, I guess he and Fiddleford really like their dangerous science stuff?”

“More than I like to know,” Stan grumbled. “On top of sleeping _in_ their work, they somehow forget to eat. I’m usually the one who whips something up so they don’t fall over.”

“Yes, but your cooking sometimes tends to be more hazardous than some of the materials we handle in our experiments.”

You suddenly spotted Fiddleford and Stanford in the doorway. They were wearing the same grimy clothes from last night (or was it the early morning? You still couldn’t figure out how much time had passed), and were looking more burned out and disheveled than you had observed from before.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that it’s not _entirely_ true,” Ford said, grabbing his mug. “He does make pretty good pancakes.” He took a swig, sighed in relief at the drink and turned his gaze to you. He put on his best smile through his weariness. “And how are you this morning?”

You took a large mouthful of overly sweetened coffee (three spoons of sugar was way too much). “I’m alright. Just need a couple more Aspirin-”

As if on cue, Stanley produced the small bottle behind his back and tossed it to you. You popped two more pills in your mouth and finished off your coffee. The bitter aftertaste lingered in your mouth while you struggled to find the words you wanted to say. You drummed your fingers over the mug, gazed down at the tabletop and sighed.

“Look, um, I’m sorry that I was bitchy last night-”

“Kid, you had every right to be,” Stan interrupted. “Don’t apologize. You almost died for Christ’s sake.”

“He’s got a point there,” Ford mused. “For our sake, _we’re_ the ones who should be apologizing.”

You smirked. “Then, apology accepted. Thanks.”

Stan grinned, probably amused by your witty remark. “Well, we couldn’t just leave you in a ditch to die-”

Ford looked at his brother in horror and slapped him on the shoulder. “Stan!”

Stan didn’t seem the least bothered by the stinging over his skin and held up his hands defensively. “Kidding, kidding. It’s the morning, bro. Lighten up.”

“We should probably take a look at those bandages later,” Fiddleford noted, pulling up a chair beside you to get a closer look. “I’m no doctor, but I’m sure as hell did the best I could.”

“You did great, Prof,” you answered with a smile. “Not tight at-” Suddenly, a loud angry growl from your stomach caught everyone off guard, including yourself. You bit your lip, embarrassed when the three men all stared at you. “Um, sorry. I haven’t really eaten anything since yesterday morning.”

“Let’s head up to the diner, then,” Ford suggested. “I don’t think any of us are in the mood to cook this morning, anyway.”

“Well, that’s good because there’s pretty much nothing in the fridge to _make_ breakfast, save for a half bottle of ketchup and a couple of onions,” Stan added, giving a supposed annoyed sideways glance in your direction. “And since we now have got another mouth to feed...”

“Then, why don’t we make a morning running errands? We can give [YN] the grand tour around town, if she’s feeling up to it.”

“Sounds good,” you concluded. “Now, first question – where’s the bathroom? ‘Cause I’m _desperately_ in need of a hot shower.” 

* * *

Despite the presence of a pine scented air freshener hanging off his mirror next to a pair of fuzzy dice, Stanley’s red station wagon (nicknamed the “Stanmobile”) reeked of a number of things, mostly the faint trace of stale beer. You thought you would have suffocated if you didn’t roll the windows down. At least his car was clean, but you could tell from the old leather seats littered with the odd cigarette burn and the semi-grease stained carpeting that he must have had this car for a long time. You were trying to guess its age before the vehicle hit a large bump in the road. Everyone was lifted out of their seats for the span of a short second before crashing back down.

“Lousy country roads,” Stan muttered, fixing his mirror.

“You alright?” Fiddleford asked you, readjusting his spectacles.

“I’m good,” you answered. Luckily, the pothole or whatever the car hit didn’t cause you to hit your head on the ceiling.

You rung your hands through your damp hair, carefully avoiding the egg sized lump on the left side of your skull. You were happy to have taken a shower before heading off, though you were not expecting the stinging pain to hit across your skin as water seeped into the still healing scrapes. (The guys thought you were being attacked again when they came bounding up the stairs and banged on the bathroom door.) At least you weren’t going out wearing a ton of bandages; just a few wrapped over your parts of your upper and lower arms and a gauze patch taped over your left cheek.

About ten minutes later, the car pulled up to what looked like a giant old red log on wheels, with a sign plastered across it reading: “Greasy’s Diner”. When you opened the restaurant doors, the smell of fresh coffee and grease hit your nose like a sucker punch, and the sounds of the sizzling grills firing up in the kitchen made your mouth water.

The diner was a small establishment with grey linoleum tiled flooring and log cabin walls covered with photos and paintings of various mountain landscapes. A turn table display at the far end housed a variety of pies and cakes, either being completely full or having odd sized slices carved out of them.

You all chose to sit at the counter rather than one of the cramped booths. You sat next to Ford, figuring that you could make up for your angry outbursts yesterday by breaking the ice with some general small talk. He was wearing an orange sweater vest and a pale yellow dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. You wondered if he was warm in that getup, being that it was summertime. Then again, northern Oregon wasn’t really the type of state to have crazy warm weather, especially up in the country.

Stanley was wearing practically the same thing that you saw him in last night, only cleaner and brighter. Fiddleford had ditched the suit and merely had changed into a spare white dress shirt and donned his black tie with a pair of green slacks.

You were still loathing that most of your spare clothes were now ashes. Only a couple of winter coats and some underwear survived (coincidentally stuffed in the same box after a last minute sweep of your dorm. Blame laundry room mix-ups). You were presently wearing one of Stan’s large white t-shirts, which was at least two sizes too big for you, forcing to roll the bottom edge up and tuck it into your dried muddy jeans.

One of the chefs brought along three piping hot mugs of coffee and several menus at hand before dashing off into the back.

“Hungry?” Ford asked, passing a menu over.

“ _Starving_ ,” you answered. Before the whole accident, you only had a bagel and a cup of coffee for breakfast from the cafeteria before packing up your car and heading on the road. You were surprised to have slept this entire time without something solid in your stomach. Perhaps that was for the best.

“Well, everything’s pretty good here. Though, maybe, it’s probably best to stay away from the coffee omelette.”

As you took the menu from out of Ford’s hands (while trying to imagine what a coffee omelette actually _looked_ like), you noticed something odd about them.

There was an extra finger on each one.

“Something the matter?”

You froze for a second, gripping the menu tight. “It’s nothing.”

You hurriedly darted your eyes back to the menu, and once Ford’s head was turned, you peeked over to see his hands again. His right hand was wrapped around his mug’s handle, save for one smaller finger poking up. You counted them all. You did it twice.

You weren’t going crazy, and you were sure it wasn’t the potential concussion. Ford had six fingers. _Six._

What in the-?

Ford coughed and you stiffened. He gave another concerned look at you and directed your floating gaze back to his hands. His face fell.

Busted.

“Oh... Jeez, I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to stare, Stanford. I was just-”

To your surprise, Ford just patted your shoulder and shook his head. “No, no. It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.” He hummed. “Kind of funny, actually. I think you’re the first one to point it out in a long time.”

“Huh.” You relaxed a bit and reached for a handful of creamers next to you. “Could I ask-?”

Ford held up his hands and wiggled his fingers for show. “Just a born case of _postaxial polydactyly_.”

“Must give pinkie swears a whole different meaning,” you joked, and then suddenly regretted it upon seeing Stan murderously glaring at you from across the table. You clamped your mouth shut.

Again, to your surprise (and Stan's), Ford actually _laughed_. “Gee, I don’t think I’ve heard that one before! I think the closest was when someone in college asked me about how I flip the bird.”

You laughed nervously. Another mouthful of coffee, followed by a minute of silence between the three of you. You decided to change the subject.

“So, um, I was just thinking about that monster from yesterday.” 

“The gremloblin?” Ford inquired.

“Yeah. _That_. How the hell did you come across that thing?”

“We were tracking it for a few weeks now,” Fiddleford explained. “Our first encounter happened when it was digging through the garbage on a Tuesday night. That’s when I…” The scientist gulped, scratching his neck. “Well, I got a nasty surprise when I got too close and looked at its eyes. You must have experienced it too, if I’m not mistaken; your worst nightmares coming to life?”

“Don’t remind me.” You shivered. You were already re-imagining those horrible red and yellow eyes. The helpless feeling of slipping into another world where your deepest nightmares were made real. It was a miracle you didn’t pass out on the spot.

“Anyway, they tried a couple of traps and that did squat every time we got close,” Stan continued. “Fidds here actually almost died once from being scratched by it. Funny story, actually. It involved him losing his left shoe-”

“The _point_ ,” Fiddleford said curtly. “Was that we were able to sneak a tracking device onto it before it escaped back into the forest. We waited for weeks until all of a sudden, early yesterday morning, our radar goes off like a bat out of hell and we get geared up for monster hunting. We were close… until it started raining. Turns out a gremloblin gets a lot more… _aggressive_ when it gets into contact with water.”

“We were trying to tranquilize the bastard before it could do any harm, but then it got the bright idea to try and make a break for it across the interstate -”

“Yeah, I _think_ I got the last bit down pat," you finished flatly. 

“I gotta say that it’s a miracle that you survived that crash,” Fiddleford noted. “I thought for sure you would have flew through the windshield or worse at the velocity you were going and the amount of muscle that critter had…”

“Guess I was lucky. Well, that, and I _was_ wearing my seatbelt.”

“Suffice to say, it’s set my research a whole month back,” Ford sighed, holding his head in hands. “Maybe even more...”

“I’d say it’s licking its wounds right about now.” Stan grinned, pounding his fists for show. “I don’t think it’ll be back bothering us for a while.”

“That’s exactly the problem, Stanley! We don’t know for sure _when_ it’ll show up again in the local area. Hell, we don’t even know where its nest is-”

The conversation was interrupted when a plump waitress with a large bundle of chestnut brown hair, and dressed in a pastel pink uniform walked over to the counter. The gold name-tag pinned on her left breast pocket read ‘Susan’. She was extremely cheerful, face perfectly powered and made-up like a china doll and wore blue cat head earrings. She clicked her pen, opened her notebook and smiled.

“What can I get for you, boys?” Susan asked, licking the pen nib.

Ford gestured to you and the waitress gasped, pulling a red manicured hand to her mouth. “Oh my _heavens_! What on earth happened to you, sweetie?”

“Car accident,” you answered quickly. “These guys are just helping me out while it’s being repaired.”

Susan gave a warm smile to you and the three men. “Aw, well, bless you all!”

Ford laughed. Stan just rolled his eyes and groaned. Fiddleford just coughed and adjusted his glasses.

You ordered your meals and then Susan tucked the pen behind her ear. It never once fell out of place when she refreshed everyone’s mugs and went to the kitchen to place your orders.

“But…this grem-whatsit,” you continued, after Susan was out of earshot. “From the way you’re all casually talking about it, it just seems like it’s just some normal animal to you.”

“I can assure you, from what I have seen in the last few years out here in the field, nothing’s _normal_ in Gravity Falls,” Ford said firmly. “And yet, I feel as if I’ve barely scratched the surface...”

“But, where did it come from? It can’t have just sprung up out of the ground and just started roaming the countryside. Maybe it’s some kind of like a proto-caveman being frozen in ice? Or could it be that it was just hibernating for thousands of years and something woke it up?”

Fiddleford blinked. “That’s a bit absurd.”

You shrugged. “Blame my nerdy cousin and all those bad sci-fi movies on late night TV. The little guy practically _breathes_ robots and people in rubber monster costumes after we saw _Star Wars_ a few years back.”                                              

“Much as we like your enthusiasm, we are talking about science not science _fiction_ ,” Ford remarked. “Although, I must admit from time to time I have to wonder if I’m dreaming all this up…”

“Oh, you always had your big head in the clouds, bro,” Stan said, nudging his brother in the ribs. “Ever since we were kids.”

“And _you_ were always fighting. It’s a miracle you’ve still got all your brain cells intact.”

“Or whatever are still clinging to life with all the beer that you drink,” Fiddleford added flatly.

“This, coming from the guy who probably secretly makes moonshine in his own bathroom,” Stan scoffed.

Fiddleford pursed his lips. “Now, we’ve been through this! I’ve sworn off of… _that_ for over twelve years now and I’ve never-"

Stan wasn’t convinced and just rolled his eyes. “Sure. _Right._ You sure don’t have a secret stash or some kind of distillery in your little basement workshop with all your kooky inventions? ‘Cause I’m telling ya, you can make a killer profit off the stuff out here. You just gotta know the right guy-”

“Stanley, I swear to God, quit trying to make business deals when you have nothing to-”

It was then that you decided to ignore the two men bickering and turned your attention back to Ford, who seemed to be doing the same thing on top of nursing his temples.

“So…you’re a scientist?” you asked slowly.

Ford blinked. “Well, yes.”

“What do you study?”

“Anomalies.”

“Like that gremlin-thingy-?”

“ _Gremloblin._ ”

You coughed. “Right. _That_ , and there’s other stuff around here like that?”

“Yes, but it’s not just fauna. There’s also local plant life, landmarks and even weather patterns that would be almost be considered Biblical in comparison.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Biblical? What, like raining frogs and fish?”

“Blood, actually.”

Your eyes widened in horror. _“Blood?!”_

Ford shushed you and dismissively waved a hand. “Not to worry, it only occurs a few times every couple of years, and the last recorded storm passed over in mid-April. Ruined one of my favorite shirts the first time I stumbled into it. I looked like a crime scene by the time I had gotten home.”

Gross. “But…how can people around here not panic over _blood rain_?”

Ford scratched his head. “I’m not too sure yet. I don’t normally go into town unless it’s for supplies. I suppose they tend to just shrug it off and carry on with their day. It’s one of those mysteries I have still yet to unravel about Gravity Falls. I have been devising a theory that there’s some kind of invisible barrier containing all the anomalies in one place to avoid seepage into the outside world, but sometimes something gets loose and it wanders around…mostly into the pages of trashy supermarket tabloids.”

“So, like Bigfoot and all those urban myths? They all came from here?”

“That’s one plausible explanation, but it doesn’t quite match other odd occurrences which have appeared around the world." There was a faint twinkle in his eyes (or was it just the light off of his glasses?) as he smiled eagerly. "I actually find it all incredibly fascinating. It’s what keeps me motivated to stay here and continue my research.”

You rubbed a hand over your face, trying to drink it all in but your sluggish brain was still attempting to heal all the bruises. “I _still_ can’t get over what I’ve seen.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it,” Ford said casually. “It took Fidds about a month to adjust. Stanley was settled in a couple of weeks after he arrived.”

"What about you?"

Ford looked oddly humbled. "Me? Oh, I think after a couple of days, I felt like I was right at home!"

“Well, if I am going to be an intern, I might as well be prepared for all the weird stuff.”

“Intern?” Fiddleford repeated. He and Stan must have finally blew all their steam on their petty argument. “Now, wait just a minute, we never said: _intern_.”

“I just thought it had a more professional ring to it than _caretaker_. I mean, I _am_ helping out scientists, aren’t I?” You paused, glancing back to Stan. “Are you a scientist too, Stanley, or are you just helping out as a lab assistant?”

Ford actually snorted, covering his mouth to hide a hissing laugh.

“He’s more like a bull in a china shop,” Fiddleford groaned.

Stan disregarded the professor’s snippy comment and laughed. “Nah, I just tagged along to make sure my nerd brother doesn’t get over his big head.”

Susan finally returned with your breakfast, sliding the plates down the counter like a card dealer in a casino. You were a little taken back at the size your Lumberjack platter, not to mention perplexed at how much food had been managed to be crammed on the oval plate and not fall over the edge. There was scrambled eggs, bacon, three sausages, a tiny bowl of baked beans, home fries, toast, a pile of fresh fruit, and, to your surprise, a generous slice of apple pie served on top of a folded pancake.

“On the house, sweetie,” she whispered, winking at you. “And if you ever need anything, don’t be afraid to drop on by and ask.”

You smiled and nodded, thankful there was a woman who understood your predicament. You watched her dash to the back, never losing her footing when she came out again balancing a tray of clean mugs from the dishwasher and placing them back on the shelves.

Fiddleford laughed softly. “Huh. Well, I’ll be damned. Not even a day in, and you’re already got Susan’s attention.”

“Eh, she just does that to all the newcomers,” Stan grunted, stuffing his mouth with eggs and bacon. “She’s alright.”

“Impressive,” Ford observed, reaching for the syrup jug for his stack of pancakes while eyeing your monster breakfast platter. “You’ve certainly got your work cut out for you there.”

“Look, I’m hungry, okay?” you snapped, shuffling around in your seat uncomfortably. “Lay off.”

Stan must have saw you blushing from embarrassment, because he rudely poked his brother with his fork to get his attention. “Hey, let the lady enjoy herself, will ya? She got beat up by that monster and survived. I say she can afford to pig out.”

Stan briefly winked at you and you felt a little bit better. You dug into the pie first. Upon the first bite, your taste buds felt like they were in heaven. _Holy crap!_ You savored every piece, and then went on to the rest of the breakfast food.

You really did underestimate yourself on how hungry you were. By the end, you pretty much cleaned the whole plate, save for a few pieces of toast. At least you felt human again.

You pulled out your wallet to pay for your meal, but Ford insisted that he would pay. Regardless, you gave a generous tip to Susan at the cash while the guys brought up your current clothing predicament.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that, dear!” Susan exclaimed. “Heaven knows what a woman would do without proper clothes. Tell you what. I’ll see what I can dig out of my closet and I’ll even ask around to my friends for donations. I’ll give the house a ring sometime tomorrow morning and you can come by and pick it up here.”

Well, it was a start. You thanked Susan for her help (and the pie) again, and went to join the men back in the car.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *pops out of a portal after 6 months* Well, this was a long update, huh? 
> 
> I have had the WORST writer's block getting through this chapter since I'm not totally used to writing all these characters yet (especially Fiddleford. GOSH, he's gonna be hard to write in later chapters). But...the good news is that I've gotten most of the plot(s) mapped, so it should be smooth sailing from here on out.


	3. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Gravity Falls. You're gonna be here for a while...Sorry.

Suffice to say that the guys didn’t much care for fresh produce when you arrived at the grocery store, because the cart was immediately steered into the aisle where all the tinned foods resided. Fiddleford grabbed a whole armload of Baron Num Num’s High Flying Beans, while Ford was putting in several kinds of soups and Stan was perusing through a display of discounted unlabeled cans of what was possibly canned meat (according to the sales sign).

You gave them all a worrying look as they were placing all their stuff in the cart. “Um, not to be picky or anything, but-”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Ford reassuringly. “We’re not quite done yet. We still have to pick up some canned vegetables. Some frozen dinners would be good, too and-”

“Er…no offense, Ford, but maybe we should pick up some…fresh stuff, too?”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those hippie types who’s on that _organic_ trend,” Stan groaned.

“I didn’t mean it like that, but…do any of you guys know how to cook?”

“We all do, in some way or another,” Ford said, glancing over at Stan uncomfortably. “Fiddleford sometimes brings leftovers from home, but, in my line of work, cooking takes too much valuable time and effort. Why waste two hours making food when you can just heat it in two minutes?”

“But eating a lot of this processed food might not be such a good idea in the long run,” you noted. “I mean, since I don’t really have anything important to do aside from watching your house, I can cook some meals for you.”

“She’s got a point there,” Fiddleford said, placing the last can of baked beans into the cart.

“And I can make lots of stuff. It just depends on what you like and what you can get around here. I was actually pretty good in Home Ec back in high school… though I never did manage to get that soufflé class down right-”

“Kid, if you can cook a spaghetti dinner without managing to burn half the house down, then I’m on board,” Stan said wholeheartedly. He gave his worried brother a playful nudge. “Come on, bro, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“I suppose we can give it a trial run,” Ford mused. “And our budget isn’t too bad from the last time we checked…”

“Right!” Stan said, clapping a hand on your shoulder. “So, what’s on the menu, Julia Child?”

You laughed nervously from the sudden pressure. “W-well, um, why don’t we take a look at the specials first? We can get some ideas from there.”

“Good idea, kid! Save us a few pennies along the way, too. ‘Wonder if they have some good steaks? Been itching for a barbeque…”

“You don’t have a barbecue,” Fiddleford sighed.

“Hey, if you can build a dinky briefcase computer thing in a garage, I’m sure you could build a grill in a snap,” Stan egged on.

Fiddleford must have been insulted by this because he seemed to have gained an inch in height (by standing on his toes) and jabbed a finger in Stan’s face.

“Stanley Pines, are you implying that computer engineering and home improvement skills are the _exact same thing_? Because I’ll betcha you wouldn’t know the first thing about programming code if it was written on your forehead in permanent ink!”

“Knock it off, you two,” Ford warned, putting a hand on his colleague’s shoulder. “Fidds, come on. Don’t let my brother ruffle your feathers...”

Fiddleford growled, shakily readjusting his glasses. “I’d like to ruffle _his_ feathers for once…”

You couldn’t help but smile at this, all the while attempting to distract yourself by comparing sliced bread in the next aisle. Caretaker? More like babysitter. At this rate, it would be a miracle if anything got done with three grown men arguing like children. 

You just hoped your cooking skills weren’t too rusty, or else you all could be set back by a week’s worth of food poisoning…    

* * *

Gravity Falls was small but quaint slice of northwestern suburbia, with little mom and pop shops dotting the streets, along with a police station, a public library, a tiny church, Town Hall, a local tavern (just simply called Tavern), a bowling alley and a cinema (The Royal Ragtime Theatre).

It was like a town frozen in time. Sure, everything _seemed_ relatively clean and proper, but you could tell that some of the places hadn’t adapted to the new decade just yet. Several of the lightbulbs surrounding The Royal Ragtime’s main sign were either broken or burned out and the yellowing ticket booth (which you assumed had been once light beige) desperately needed a new coat of paint. When you had stopped at the Dusk 2 Dawn convenience store, you spotted some faded signs in the front windows among the newly taped lost pet ads, posts for odd jobs and local summer tutoring programs (A large poster boasting: ' _Ice Cold Slurpees – New Flavors Available All Summer Long!’_ , an ad for a no longer existing sports themed lottery ticket, and one with a winking cartoon worm lounging on top of light brown letters: _‘Worms? We Got ‘Em!’_ – which sounded a little too off context).

After dropping off Fiddleford back at his home, you returned back to Ford’s house in the woods. You didn’t get a good look on your way out this morning, but now you could see the full scope of it all when you pulled into the dirt driveway. It was like someone had mashed up plans of a modern home and a log cabin into one. Everything was made of wood. Some of the dark brown roofing were just barely hanging on their nails from past years of bracing the seasons. A radio tower stood in the far back, overshadowing the cabin by just a few feet in height. A weather vane was perched over the front entrance and was gently spinning in the faint summer breeze, while bits of sunlight bounced off the dented metal canopy draped over the front porch.

Stan immediately thought it was best for you to do as little movement as possible when the brothers saw you slowly get out of the car and stumbled on the first few steps. The aspirin has long since worn off and you had been starting to flinch at the sudden aches and pains returning to your recovering limbs after grocery shopping. Stan even offered to _carry_ you to the house. Naturally, you refused but he still gave you one of his arms for support.

You were guided back into the living room and seated on the lumpy couch while the men tended to the groceries. Ford brought you a piping hot cup of herbal tea and some more pain killers before darting back into the hallway. After another ten minutes, he returned with a large stack of random books (‘from his own personal collection’), placed them on what was a giant dinosaur skull (a carnivore telling by its teeth) which was serving as an extra side table and wandered off down the hall to revise some of his fieldwork recordings in his room.

You figured a little bit of light reading wouldn’t hurt to calm yourself down before taking an early afternoon nap, so you reached for the first book in the stack – a thick magazine catalog, only to grimace when you felt the thin layer of dust on the cover. You had observed earlier that Ford had dozens of books lying around the house, some even taking over a corner in the front entrance. No wonder he needed a housekeeper. You made note that your first chore was to gather every single book in the house and then to bother Ford to put up a shelf somewhere so people wouldn’t trip over them.  

You tossed the magazine ( _Northwest Living (Summer 1975 edition)_ ) to the floor, and picked up a less dusty, yellowed paperback called: _Weird and Wild Tales to Astonish!_ _Volume 1_. It was mainly a collection of real life accounts of the supernatural, ghost stories and urban legends. There was a whole chunk of the book dedicated to people’s encounters and sightings of Bigfoot, and even a chapter or two on alien abductions. You skimmed through a lot of them and eventually gave up on it for being a little too cringe worthy when it came to reading about some tourist in the late sixties who had claimed to have joined in on a hippie alien orgy ( _‘they were trying to be closer to the universe, man’_ , as he put it) while being stuck in the Nevada desert, but it seemed more like he was rambling off of a drug overdose.

Most of the other books Ford had left you were amongst the same tone onto the informative, scientific or supernatural, boasting titles like: _A Ghoulish Guide to Ghosts_ , _1001 Flora and Fungi,_ _Science vs. Sorcery: Debunking Fantasy for Facts_ , _20 th Century Minds, _and strangest of all: a battered first edition of the _Dungeons, Dungeons and More Dungeons_ Rulebook. There were also some old National Geographic magazines and a college level physics textbook that Ford must have absentmindedly slipped in.

At the bottom of the pile was an old hardcover copy of _Frankenstein_ , visibly displaying its use in its time with dog eared corners and a frayed red ribbon bookmark. It was one of those books you were required to read in high school English at some point, but luckily for one particular year when everyone else had to read it, you had the other English class with the Shakespeare-obsessed English teacher who made you read more of the Bard’s works than you could have digested in your entire lifetime.

You had watched a couple of the related films on late night TV and thought they were pretty cool, so you indulged in your interest. Upon opening the book, you spotted some scribbled handwriting on the title page:

_To Sixer,_

_Happy birthday! (It took me a months’ worth of allowance (and some help from Ma) to get this for you, but I hope that it’s worth it for that big science brain of yours!)_

_Stanley_

Judging by the questionable number of spelling errors and faint eraser markings, you had guessed that Ford must have had this book ever since he and Stan were kids. You smiled, trying to picture two little Pines brothers running around on a camping trip or at a playground together, but it proved very difficult…for the obvious reason that you had only just met them yesterday. They must have been very close to live under the same roof, even though they tended to argue a lot (which most siblings did).

You got through a couple of chapters until you remembered your tea had been sitting on the (also dusty and paper cluttered) side table to cool. It was stone cold, but you weren’t too put off by it due to the budding summer warmth.

It suddenly dawned on you when your eyes fell upon a hidden telephone by your coaster.

Your parents. Your home. Your job.

_Your life._

You almost choked on your tea. _Shit._

With all the commotion over the last twenty four hours, you hadn’t even thought about phoning home. Your parents must have been wondering where you were, let alone worried. After quickly explaining the situation to Ford, who had coincidentally had just been rummaging around part of the house for some extra writing utensils, he allowed you to use the phone.

“Just…don’t go into too much detail about us or what we’re doing,” he said slowly. “It’s crucial that you keep my research a secret from anyone else. I’ve already got people on my ass about my progress…”

You dialed your home number and waited for the tone, anxiously twirling the chord around a finger. When the third ring had faded, you were a little bit anxious when the answering machine picked up.

 _They’re not at home? Isn’t Mom usually home at this hour-? Wait..._  

Be it the blunt trauma to your head or the damn side effects of whatever was in that tranquilizer, you had completely forgotten about your parents’ vacation plans to the Caribbean… but wasn’t that only in July?

 _Oh, right._ Their wedding anniversary was earlier this week and they had told you that there was a chance they were going to be gone by the time you arrived home. It was all coming back to you now. You had been over the moon at the good news. Three weeks of no parents. Three weeks of partying and catching up with friends who were visiting home for the summer…

Now literally up in smoke.

“Um, hey, it’s me,” you mumbled. “Look, I’m…taking a sight detour and I’m going to be staying with some… _acquaintances_ in Orgeon for a little bit. Should be home by the time you get back…more or less. So, um, yeah. Love you..."

Then, you irritably hung up the phone. At least your parents weren’t going to be mad that you didn’t come for dinner now. They were most likely relaxing on a soft sandy beach and having fancy drinks with those cute little decorative paper umbrellas and big pieces of fruit stuck on the edge of the glass. 

But now, it was time to call work. Oh damn, this was not going to be fun...

You had been working at one of the two local (and sometimes feuding) pizza joints in your hometown for over the last three years now. Starting off as a bus girl until you got your own car, then you were promoted to delivery person, after heavily persuading that you were _not_ taking a ‘man’s job’ just to slack around in your car all shift. (You found that the extra tips really helped you with gas money, though you also came to realize some people were cheap and rude as hell and did not tip _at all_ ).

You could only hope that the owner, Joe, would cut you some slack, given that your family had been regular customers for as long as you could remember.

A minute later, you were connected. A rather old, gravelly voice picked up on the other side.

_“Pizza Palace.”_

“Hey, Joe. It’s [Y/N] speaking.”

The man barked out a laugh. _“Hey! What a nice surprise! How are you, dear?”_

“Er…busy. I was on my way back home from college and -”

 _“Oh, yeah, yeah!”_ Joe chuckled. _“Almost forgot about that! You know work’s been picking up now with all the kids getting ready for their proms and the end of the year bashes, and my mind is elsewhere these days.”_ He pulled away from the receiver and coughed, no doubt a result from all the cigarettes he would go through a day. _“So, uh, what can I do you for?”_

You awkwardly scratched at one of your bandages around your arms. “Right…well, you remember when I said that I would be able to start work around early next week? I don’t think I’m going to make it back in time. I’ve had to deal with a few things-”

_“Say no more, say no more. When do you expect to be back? A couple of days? A week?”_

You bit your lip. “A month.”

 _“A **month**?!”_ Joe cried, forcing you to hold the receiver away from your ear just as the sound of metal pans crashed to the floor. A slew of fast Italian hollered out in the background as he yelled over someone in the back, and hurried back to the phone. _“What the hell kind of trouble did you get yourself into?”_

“It’s just a bit of car trouble, that’s all-”

 _“Car trouble doesn’t land you_ that _long of a wait.”_

“It is if it’s an older car and the parts are hard to come by in this place I’m staying in.”

_“Where are you right now?”_

“Some little backwater town in Orgeon.”

 _“Oregon?! Jeez…”_ There was a groan from the other side, along with another line of swearing. _“Are you alright? What happened?”_

“I’m okay. There was some trouble with the engine and-” You stopped and decided to spare the details. You were already running the phone bill for calling long distance. “Look, is there any way to hold my position until…say, early July?”

 _“I…I can’t promise you anything, [Y/N],”_ Joe said slowly. _“I just had some younger people apply just last week. I’m going to be doing interviews soon.”_

_Shit._

“Look, that’s fine,” you said quickly. “I understand. Business is business after all…”

Joey sighed. _“I’ll tell you what - I’ll try and place you somewhere as best as I can, but… try not to hold your breath. Maybe, I can see if I can forward you your vacation pay early. You didn’t take too many days off last year so you must have saved some money there…”_ Another sigh, though it turned into another frantic cough. _“Just…let me know when you’re out of trouble, alright?”_

“I will. Thank you, Joe. I appreciate it.”

_“You’re welcome, dear. Be careful out there. You never know what kind of weirdos are roaming about.”_

_No problem. I am living with three right now_ _._

“I will. _Ciao._ ”

You groaned loudly as you hung up again. Of all the damn rotten luck.

No job meant no money. You were only scraping by with your scholarship funds and food stamps from the cafeteria. Maybe you could leave home earlier in August to find a job close to the campus. There was always that diner in town, the student run coffee shop and the book store, and there was that roller disco…

You guessed it was best to sit on the idea until you were properly healed…and were home safe. God, why did it have to be you? Why did it have to be _here_?

“You alright there, kid? Need s’more Aspirin?”

You turned your head to see Stan in the doorway, clutching a couple of glass bottles of Pitt cola in one hand.

“No,” you sighed, massaging your sore temples as if to shoo away any more worrying thoughts plaguing your mind. (It didn’t work.) “I’m good.”

“Then, why so down?”

“Personal stuff.”

Stan grunted, nodding his head, though he was looking more at the ground than at you. “Yeah, that usually bites you in the ass when you least expect it.” He handed you a soda without even asking you. In return, you made space for him on the couch.

“Thanks. I guess.”

“Things will work out, you’ll see. Cheers.” He gestured his bottle to you and you gently clinked them together. You almost choked on part of a peach pit as you swallowed. (Pitt was the only brand of peach cola in existence and they used real peaches as a base, pits and all). You set your bottle aside and grabbed your tea instead.

“You know,” Stan began. “If you want, I can harass the mechanic to fix your car faster, but I dunno if that’ll help at all…”

“You were listening?” you asked, almost dropping your mug suddenly.

“Not much. I mean, with my brother shut away in his room, this place has some great acoustics...”

“What were you doing anyway?”

Stan scratched the back of his neck. “Well, actually…I was just coming by to ask if you were feeling up to helping me clear out the attic.”

“What for?”

“’Thought it might be better for you to have some privacy instead of passing you by every morning here while you were sucking back flies. Ford suggested the attic, seeing it’s the only room left available, since I got the extra bedroom upstairs. It’s small and probably hasn’t been cleaned since he moved in, but I’ll do all the heavy lifting, of course. Don’t want to push you too hard after what you’ve been through-”

“I can lift some stuff. It’s not as bad as it looks.” Though truthfully, the new bandages were kind of itchy and you were still sore in some places. But the gemloblin be damned if you were going to be lazing around for the next month while playing Mrs. Hudson to a gang of monster hunters and scientists and…whatever Stan did as a living.

“Stubborn. I like it.” Stan laughed, playfully punching you in the arm.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the wincing pain shooting up from a bandaged wound that Stan had struck by accident. “Come on, Stan, I’m a _girl_. I’ve handled worse pain than just a couple of bruises, you know.”

“Like what?”

You cleared you throat and directed your eyes below you and then back to glare obviously at him. It took all but less than thirty seconds before it dawned on Stan what you meant, because his mouth fell open and his big ears suddenly turned red.

“ _Oh._ ”

He uneasily shuffled down the edge of the couch, coughed and continued to drink his soda in embarrassed silence as he stared blankly at the stone wall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...back from another haitus, I guess? (YES I AM HORRIBLE AT POSTING ON SCHEDULE)
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be A LOT longer, but it didn't match the flow of the plot to the other so, it was split into two instead. There were SO many screencaps I had to look through to map out the coordinates of the town, but then realized I had a better one from the pull out poster from my copy of "Dipper and Mabel's Guide to Mystery and Non-Stop Fun!" (Some sections of Journal 3 helped a bunch too, which many snippets will later be visited in this fic).
> 
> Also watching some episodes of 'Stranger Things' has got me visualize the 80's vibe of things. :3


	4. Pest Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who knew that cleaning could be such a dangerous task?

“You sure you don’t wanna take a snooze?” Stan asked, opening the attic door.

“We’re already up here, aren’t we? Let’s just get this over with…”

You sneezed when a long strand of cobweb flew into your face. There were tiny clusters draped over the dusty forgotten corners and the high wooden rafters of the house. It must have been awhile since Ford had been up here…or the spiders nesting here must have been working overtime.

The air smelled stale and damp, and the room mostly housed boxes that looked like they had been unopened for a number of years, along a small collection of extra bedroom furniture from Ford’s early days of living here. There was no sign of a bed frame or even a mattress, but Stan had assured you that it would be taken care of soon.

“Careful,” he warned, handing you a broom. “I’ve been hearing something scratching around up here for the last week and a half. I think we have mice. Remind me later to bug Ford to set some traps…”  

You nodded. It made sense since Ford was stationed so close to the woods. Anything could have been nesting in the walls for warmth from the harsh winter.

“So, what kind of animals do you have around here, anyway?” you asked as you started sweeping the floor.

Stan had already went to work on investigating a few sealed boxes. One housed a couple of tennis rackets which appeared to be pristine condition, despite a dust cloud falling to the floor when he moved it towards the door.

“We talking normal or…you know, like…?” He waved his hands in a spooky gesture to exaggerate a point.

You snorted. “Normal.”

“Lemme see…there’s deer, lotta birds…owls, raccoons…I think I saw a fox or a coyote around here once or twice…”

Something sparkly suddenly caught the corner of your eye while you were clearing a pile to an open trash bag. It was small, but it glinted in the mid afternoon sun seeping from the window.

“What about bugs?” you asked absentmindedly.

“Haven’t been here long enough to see much,” Stan grunted, shuffling through a pile of books and absentmindedly tossing them aside. “There’s a crap load of mosquitoes and honking huge blackflies. Deerflies, too. Um, moths…I dunno, spiders? I think there’s some poisonous ones ‘round here…Probably watch out for them…”

As Stan rambled on, you investigated the glittering object sitting in the corner behind the main door. It was a tiny, baseball-sized dome of aged grey web. Upon gently brushing them away, you discovered that the object was actually a collection of pearlescent marble sized stones.

“Hey, Stan, check this out.”

Stan threw the last book onto the floor and wandered to your side. “What’d you find?”

When his eyes fell on the shiny mass, an unexpected sense of giddiness spread across his face. It was like the look of a miner who had struck gold. He absently shoved you aside.

“Holy Moses! Are those pearls?!” He gingerly picked one up to inspect it more closely and squinted. He then frowned, a little disappointedly. “Nope. Opals…maybe. Still a pretty good sell-”

“I don’t think those are gemstones,” you interrupted. “I found them in a big spider web.”

“Some kind of hoarding insect, then?” Stan mused, giving the shiny pile a light brush with the broom to clean them off some more.

“Careful!” you cried, snatching the broom away from Stan as if the stones could explode at any moment. “We don’t know what they are! We should get Ford to look at these…”

“No need.” Stan held one in his palm up to your face. A long jagged crack had split the supposed stone in two, revealing it to be hollow and dull inside.

You blinked. “It’s an _egg_?”

“Must have been here for a while now. Almost fell apart when I picked it up.”

You scanned the room and saw that there were more of the same glittery webs set around the place, some even dotting the rafters and nesting on shelves. From what you could count, there were at least a dozen of them. But where did they all come from? And more importantly – what kind of creature _laid_ them?

You gulped. “I think we should _really_ get Ford up here. He might know-”

You backed up against a closet door and you gasped when you faintly heard scratching from the inside. The ‘mice’ from Stan’s description?

“Stan!” you hissed.

Stan carelessly dropped the shells to the floor. “What now?”

You jerked your head to the door, gripping the broom handle tightly in your now sweaty palms. The nightmarish idea of monstrous looking insects were making your stomach twist into knots. Stan put his ear to the door and a moment later, he pulled away puzzled. He took the broom from out of your hands, stepped back and held it like a lance.

“When I say three, open the door and I’ll bash whatever’s inside. Got it?”

You worryingly bit your lip, but you slowly nodded. You readied yourself at the door handle.

“Okay… _three_!”

You flung open the door and dived out of the way as Stan charged with a mighty roar, swinging the broom side to side…until he abruptly stopped. You slowly followed him inside. Amongst a few old jackets, outdated clothes and boots, there was nothing else in the closet.

“Huh, false alarm,” Stan muttered. “’Guess it must have been the wood in this place warming up.”

You took another step and heard a small crunch from under your foot. You looked down to shockingly find more opal colored egg shells littering the ground. There was a rustle above you, something sounding like dry leaves and a faint buzz. Taking a deep breath, you reached at a chord linking to the closet light and pulled.

The ceiling sprang to life.

Your mouth dropped open at the reveal of a hundred tiny iridescent wings fluttering open. Twig-like arms and legs scaled across the wooden ceiling while small bodies twitched at hummingbird speed.

_“Stan…”_ you whispered through clenched teeth.

“Just…back away slowly,” Stan said quietly, though he looked like he was about as ready as you to scream like a maniac.

That was easier said than done as another small crunch from the shells on the floor disrupted the calm. The twitching beings stopped. You held your breath.

Dozens upon dozens of jet black beetle like eyes suddenly stared down at the two of you. Tiny mouths opened wide into sharp toothy grins.

“Shi-”

A single shrill squeal cut the tension, followed by something sounding like a whistling kettle housing a swarm of bees.

The next few seconds were a literal blur. The creatures all charged like a swarm of locusts, knocking both of you out of the closet and onto your backs. The wild hyperactive chattering echoed all around the room, awash in a haze of greens and blues.

You came to when you felt a tickling on the back of your left hand - one of the creatures was scuttling around over it. You cautiously brought it closer for inspection.

The thing was no bigger than an apple and it wore garments like dead leaves and chewed fabric woven in spider silk. Its skin was covered in a similar shimmering mossy hue as its brethren, bordering between flesh and the texture of young wood. Its face, while mostly human-like, bore a pair of large black eyes, long bat ears and an upturned horned nose. Two small spiraled antenna wiggled around atop of its head. It had short chestnut hair, wild and bushy like a lion’s mane. Four undersized dragonfly wings twitched while it crawled and sat itself in your palm. Its ears perked up as it stared back at you curiously, swinging its bare pointed feet around.

“Hey, these little things aren’t so bad,” you mused, watching the little thing hug your thumb. “They’re…kind of cute.”

That façade quickly faded when it grinned wickedly and bore its sharp teeth into your skin. You cried out and flung the thing across the room as it shrilly laughed.

“Little bastard _bit me!_ ” You prayed it wasn’t poisonous, watching as a bead of blood rose to the surface. The slight stinging wasn’t helping your mood either.

There was an angry cry, and the swarm stormed down upon you and Stan. He was on his feet first and swatted a few with the broom, but he was majorly outnumbered. They wrestled the broom out of his hands and bopped him on the head. All of them squealed with delight when the big muscular human made a painful, yet funny sound and then tried to run away as they kept hitting him with his own weapon.

You were in a tight squeeze as well as the swarm attacked you, pulling at your hair and crawling down your back with their scratchy nails. You batted them away with your hands until you fell backwards into the attic door and slammed it shut. (Thank God.) You snatched one of the tennis rackets out of their box and commenced to whack at the creatures, but they were persistent, small and faster than your human reflexes could calculate.

“Don’t worry, kid!” Stan hollered. “I’m coming!” But that was easier said than done when a few of the pests flew at face and bit his nose. _“Son of a-!”_

You sneezed. Something was falling from above – pollen? You could see the swarm whizzing around you and shaking gold from their wings. You felt tingly all over and your stomach fell, reminding you of your first time taking off in an airplane…

“What are you doing-?” Stan began, and his jaw fell open as he saw himself floating several feet off the ground. His face went pale.

“ _Oh_ …no. No! No, no, NO!” Try as he might, his momentum was only making matters worse as he flailed around in the air. “Get me down! _GET. ME. DOWN!!_ ”

Immediately, you looked down as well and cried out, waving your arms about to try to gain some force to push you back down, but that didn’t last long when the little monsters simply shoved you and you collided into Stanley’s chest. Both of you knocked into a wall and the force pushed you backwards again. A couple of the creatures taunted Stan but when he tried to punch them, they simply flew out of the way and he flipped upside down.

You heard someone bounding up the stairs until Ford came through the doorway, looking rather irritated than being more worried about the noise.

“Just what in the world are you two-?” His eyes popped open with a new sense of wonderment from seeing his newly occupied ceiling. “What’s-?!”

“About damn time!” Stan snapped, flapping his arms to try and push himself upright.

“Close the door!” you shouted, grabbing one of the wooden beams to stop yourself from flying into the closet.

Blinking back to reality, Ford didn’t question you and he shut the door behind him before any of the winged devils had the idea to escape. You noticed that most of them were just hanging around in mid-air, their large eyes oddly fixed on this new human.

“Now, get us down from here before these pixies finish us off!” Stan growled.

“Pixies?” you repeated. “Wait…you mean you know what these _things_ are?!”

“What? No! I just thought it was really obvious. They’re basically a swarm of ugly Tinkerbells – _OW!_ ” He attempted to smack a pixie that bit his left ear, but missed it by just a second. “And I’m _not_ having the happiest of thoughts at the moment.”

Ford just stared at his brother dubiously. “You’ve got to be kidding me. They can’t be -”

“We can classify what the hell these things are later!” you yelled. “Get us down!” 

Ford wrinkled his nose. “Right, I’ll get you down in a jiff – iff – _!_ ” His sudden sneeze almost knocked his glasses fell off his face.

The bemused ‘pixies’ snickered at him, while several of them spun Stan around in the air and a handful were trying to tickle you after crawling under your shirt again. Many of them flew towards Ford, but he had the upper hand when he swatted a few with a heavy textbook, followed by another loud sneeze when he caught a whiff of the dust from the recoil.

“H-how – _ACHOO!_ – w-where d-did you – _ACHOO!_ – f-find them?” Ford yelped as one pulled at the back of his shirt. He sneezed again and blew away a few when they tried to take away his glasses. “Why am I-?” He stopped. “Oh no. I c-ca – can’t be a – a – _ACHOO!_ – _allergic?!_ ”

“Oh, _come on!_ ” Stan whined, clutching at one of the high beams for support. The pixies giggled, holding Ford steady as they sprinkled him down, sending him sneezing all the way up into the rafters. He almost would have hit his head if you hadn’t grabbed one of his legs.

“Great,” Stan groaned, eyeing his brother disdainfully. “Now what?”

“What we need is a giant butterfly net,” you suggested.

Stan flicked a pixie off his shoulder. “Or a bug zapper.”

Ford hid half his face with the collar of his shirt to avoid breathing in more of the dust. “There must be some way to propel ourselves,” he sniffed. “If we can distract them enough-”

“With _what_ , Ford? We’re sitting ducks up here!” 

“That’s contradictory -”

“Oh, SHUT UP.”

You could only watch as the pixies destroyed the attic - upturning furniture, tearing and eating pages from books (much to Ford’s shock), and throwing random junk out from the closet. A lone trophy smashed the window and swiftly, a handful of the group were attempting to drag you out by your legs.

All three of you put up a fight, kicking and hitting the air every time a few of them came near you. You got to hand it to the little monsters; they had a ton of energy and were stubborn to boot, which made it more distressing when Stan was forcefully dragged from the beam he had been clinging on to by his ankles to the edge of the window.

“Get off me, you stupid shits!” Stan roared.

You called out to him, desperately reaching out to try and grab him to no avail. You were too far away and you would be in danger if you made yourself vulnerable. You didn’t know exactly what would happen once you were outside, but there were two possibilities: you could continue to float upwards and die from asphyxiation or, if the dust ever wore off, fall to your death from a very large height.

There was another sound of breaking glass from below; the remains of Stan’s Pitt cola he had brought up with him had spilt over the floor. Half of the pixies had circled around it with excited chirps. As if these things were already wild enough. A sugar rush would send them into overdrive…

A tiny hiccup caught you off-guard, followed by a series of slurry giggling. Another handful of the creatures curiously turned their attention to the group around the puddle and fluttered down to join them, lapping peach soda off the hardwood floor.

“What are they doing?” Ford asked, still shaking a couple of pixies off his leg while he held on to the rafters and tried to keep half his face hidden in his shirt.

“I don’t know...” you murmured.

Without even thinking, you pushed yourself off the ceiling and dove down…a little too fast. You almost collided face first into the floor, if you hadn’t knocked into a chair and slammed into a wall. The noise didn’t bother the pixies at all. In fact, when they turned to face you, their reactions were slow and rather strange. Their wings only twitched every couple of seconds and their heads lolled to one side. When a hiccup would pop out, they all seemed to point at laugh in different directions. Some of them were lazily rolling around in the sticky pink orange puddle.

“Hey, a little help here?!” Stan hollered, still holding himself away from the window frame from the pixies who were still restraining against him to push him out.

Before you realized what you were doing, you yelled….quite louder than you expected.

_“HEY!”_

The room went quiet. The pixies who hadn’t joined their brethren on the floor all flashed their black gazes at you. You gulped. Despite their size, the little bastards could be intimidating.

“Y-yeah, I’m talking to you! You’re, uh… missing out on the party!”

The sober pixies cocked their heads to one side, eying the rest of their kin lazily playing around in the soda like kids on a snow day. You saw that your own bottle had tipped over as well in the chaos but didn’t break, and there was still a bit left on the inside. You drank the last of the liquid, smiling awkwardly as you shook the bottle in the air (and tried not to gag. Peach soda, what were they _thinking_?). 

“Mmm! And there’s a lot more where that came from…”

“What are you -?!” Ford gasped.

“But I have to get them from downstairs. They should be cold by now. That’s when they’re the _best_ …”

The sober pixie horde squeaked delightedly, immediately letting go of Stan and whizzed around you in a flurry of shrill excitement. Some were pulling at the back of your shirt again, urging you to open the door so they could get their fill of this miraculous nectar. A couple were even hastily attempting to turn the door handle.

“Wait!” Ford cried, trying to propel himself like you did but his foot slipped on the beam and spun upside down. “You can’t! They’ll get into _everything_! My-!”

_“Hold on a second!”_ you cried. The pixies stopped and unpleasantly stared at you some more with their big buggy eyes. “N-now, you gotta be on your best behavior, or else, none for you. _None._ Not one drop. Got it?” 

The pixies turned to one another, chattering and nodding in agreement. Another unified squeak and a flash of rather sweet smiles made you feel a little more comfortable. You sighed heavily.

“Good. Good…” God, this was _insane_.  “Uh, well, before we get a move on downstairs, I think you need to show us some flying lessons…”

* * *

Ford groaned, watching as numerous tiny sticky pink hand and footprints coated his ceiling, walls and floor of his kitchen amongst the buzz and cheerful chirping.

Stan patted his brother’s shoulder while nursing a bag of frozen peas over his swollen nose. “’Could have been a lot worse, bro.”

Ford blew into a tissue discouragingly. “I suppose…”

All three of you observed the pixies crowding around plates and bowls filled with cola all over the kitchen like birds in a birdbath. Some of them had tried to bite your fingers when you poured the rest of the remaining soda to them in a short juice glass, but after a quick retreat and a firm warning from you, the creatures respectfully made room for you before literally diving in gleefully.

“Just how on Earth did you… _command_ them like that?” Ford asked, wiping off the remainder of the dust off his glasses.

You shrugged. “They’re just babies. I guess they needed a little guidance. I think I would be pretty rowdy too if I was cooped up in an attic for a while.”

“’Should have given them a swift kick in the ass,” Stan added, squinting at one of the empty bottles to read the label. “What the hell was in this stuff that made them act so damn weird?”

Ford took the bottle out of his brother’s hands and scanned the ingredients. “Well, I’ll be - fermented peach extract! These creatures must share insect-like characteristics if they can just get intoxicated by fruit.”

He watched as a lone pixie, wearing a pocket from what was once belonging to a pair of brown corduroy trousers as a chewed up romper, lazily danced around in circles all over the table.

“ _Fascinating_.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It would be a miracle, but maybe if [Y/N] could persuade them to settle down, I could capture a couple for further study-”

“ _Oh_ no,” Stan said bluntly. “No way.”

“I just want to do a few tests and take some notes. If they really are just infants, just imagine what they’d be like when they’re adults!”

“Those little bastards almost _killed_ us back there! And you want to keep them as a _pet_?!”

“ _Scientific specimens_ , Stanley,” Ford said curtly, rising from his chair, only to swiftly scramble to clutch at the edge of the table to prevent him from shooting upwards and hitting his head on the ceiling. The way he hung flat in mid-air made him laughingly look like a child learning how to paddle. “There’s a difference. I’ll release them in due time-”

“With all due respect, Ford,” you interrupted rather firmly, wiping your sticky hands on a tea towel. “Stan’s right. You can’t keep them cooped up here any longer. They’ve already trashed your attic…and your wardrobe, and anyway, you were freaking out before I released them downstairs. I just managed to steer them all in here without upturning the house into _more_ of a mess.”

“Yes, but that was before we found their weakness! If I can keep feeding them like this, I can make the proper entries on them -”

You gently pushed Ford on the back so he could settle back down upright in his chair. “They’ve been through enough, don’t you think? Much as I can say for you…”

Ford was trying to not look you in the eye, but he sneezed again as a pixie accidentally flew into his face and greeted him with a glittery gold facial.

You sighed in defeat. “Look, I’ll at least give you a few hours to settle everything with your science stuff, but after that, we’re letting them go.” 

Ford snatched his newly weightless glasses from the air and set them back on his now very red nose. “Oh…very well.” He crossed his arms, but then slowly realized his glasses were slipping upwards again. “They shouldn’t be too much trouble for me. In the meantime, you two can finish cleaning the attic, seeing that it’s a disaster area.”

“And also in the meantime, _you’ve_ got to figure out how to stop floating around like this.” Stan gestured, ruffling his hair and showered the floor with pixie dust. 

“Why me?”

“You’re the one studying them, genius. Not us. We’re just the innocent bystanders in this whole mess.”

“You? _Innocent?_ ” Ford scoffed. “I don’t think you even know the meaning of the word, Stanley.”

Stan was about to snap back at his brother before you grabbed him by the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the kitchen. “ _Okay_ , let’s leave Mister Smarty-pants alone with the kids. We’ve still got an attic to finish cleaning…”

“But-” Stan began, but he was cut off again when you tossed several rags in his face.

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Come on.”

* * *

Flying around took some effort, but it was all a matter of willpower and steering. It was almost like swimming, but you needed to concentrate harder to stay on course than just floating in one spot. The pixies made it look so easy, but they had wings and you only had your arms and legs.

Stan thought you were nuts while he tried to help you without bumping his head into a doorway or light fixture. He kept feeling uneasy when he looked down, so you recommended him to just move closer to the ground. He still hovered, but he was much more content that he could touch the floor from time to time.

Outside of taking care of the disaster which was the attic, you had taken the opportunity to dust and mop all the ceilings in the home, with the exception of Ford’s study, out of respect for his own mess. You would tackle it another time…when Ford was away from the house.

“Heh, good luck with that,” Stan grunted. “He almost bit my head off when I once walked in to grab a pencil. He was never like that when we shared a room when we were kids…”

When you later returned to the kitchen, Ford was exhausted. His hair was spiked up in odd places with sticky cowlicks, while his pale yellow shirt was dotted with ink and soda stains. He was sneezing a lot more than before, even with a dishtowel wrapped around his face and he was fighting back tears from his rather puffy eyes. You saw him carrying a large red leather-bound book under one of his ink smeared arms – his supposed Journal.

When you asked him how his research went, a couple of giggling pixies popped out of his hair and attempted to make snow angels on his scalp.

“It’s a miracle I could even _sketch_ them,” he groaned wearily. He sounded sicker than before. No doubt the pixie dust was having a field day with his sinuses. “They just…wouldn’t sit still! They chewed through three of my pens _and_ they kept leaving sticky tracks all over my book! Even though it was an asset to my findings… I just hope the water damage doesn’t ruin my previous entries. Otherwise, I’ll be set _months_ back…”

You smirked, gently plucking the gurgling creatures off of Ford’s head and letting them snuggle in an oven mitt on the countertop. “So…does this mean you need more time?”

Ford was so startled that he almost dropped his book. “What?! _No!”_ He coughed. “No, I’ve got enough to catalogue as is! I’d much rather get them out of here.” He gripped the towel over his face to stop him from sneezing again. "My newly discovered allergies are starting to really wear me out.” 

“Oh, so you’ll actually get some sleep tonight?” Stan jeered. He was already starting to put pixies into a bucket before you stopped him from letting them drown in dirty water.

Ford said nothing but sniffed. You ushered him out of the kitchen so he could get some clean air and safely return his findings to his study. You warned him not to stay too far away should something go awry, but Ford responded with another loud sneeze. Following that was a loud ‘thunk’ of him knocking on wood and an angry grunt down the hall.

Stan snickered. “Betcha five bucks he hit the ceiling.”

* * *

It was late in the evening before the last pixie was finally evicted from the house. They were so docile from the aftermath of their sugar rush that they didn’t put up much of a fight when you and Stan started gently placing them into buckets lined with the remaining clean towels you could find in the kitchen. They all seemed to purr and yawn while they sleepily huddled together.

Stan guided you through the back woods, about a mile or so away from the house before you could let the pixies go, just to be safe. Navigating through the trees was a much more painful task that you thought, with one too many times when your faces were whipped by lone branches while also avoiding getting your eyes gouged out. Eventually, you found a lone mushroom patch near the bottom of an upturned willow tree and nudged the creatures out onto the grass.

“Do you think they’ll be okay here?” you asked Stan, as you picked out the remaining pixies from the bottom of the bucket. You saw a handful of them flittering into the roots of the tree while others were eyeing some very large red toadstools.

“Why do you care?” Stan grunted. “They almost threw me out a window, remember?”

“I know, but…” You solemnly looked down at the pixies wobbly climbing the mushrooms, like children taking their first steps. “It’s just…we don’t know if they’re like…like, sea turtles.”

“Sea turtles? What the hell are you talking about?”

Blame reading that particular issue of National Geographic in the pile. “I mean, the mothers lay their eggs on the beach and leave. Then, when the babies are born, they immediately let their instincts lead them to the water and then swim into the ocean to fend for themselves. Just like that. They don’t have parents to take care of them. What if the pixies have to fend for themselves, too? Or, what if… their parents actually _abandoned_ them?”

“Kid, I think that dust is messing with your brain. They’ll be fine.” Stan shrugged. “It’s…nature. Life goes on and all that crap.”

But there was a nagging feeling at the back of your head that this was the wrong thing to do. “I guess so…”

Stan patted your shoulder. “Look, if it’ll make you feel better, you can check on them tomorrow. I’ll even come with you. Now, come on, I wanna know if I’m gonna be sleeping like a bat tonight or not…”

* * *

Ford’s allergies had significantly calmed down when you arrived back at the cabin. He had deduced while you were gone that to stop floating was to just vacuum off the pixie dust off. (As a result, the hand vacuum actually _floated_ in mid-air.) After that, removing the remaining residue was to just rinse with water. As soon as Stan heard this, he bolted upstairs to shower before his brother could protest to keep extra samples for his collection for ‘further research’.

You begrudgingly allowed Ford to take some extra dust off of you before he went back down the hall, leaving you alone to clean up the mess. You felt rather annoyed that he didn’t even consider to at least help you clear up all the dishes before absentmindedly scurrying back to his work, but you gave him the benefit of the doubt that he needed to rest to clear his allergies so you channeled your frustration to cleaning. Without the excess amount of pixie dust on you, you were basically grounded. Reaching for the higher shelves and ceiling proved to be more challenging without a chair.

Every so often you would hear the shower stop. Then, you’d hear Stan’s muffled yelling through the floorboards, and then the pipes would rattle before the shower was turned back on again. It was over forty minutes later when Stan finally came thumping down the stairs in a grumpy mood while you were washing the last handful of dishes.             

“Ugh, it’s like glitter,” Stan groaned, drying his hair off for the third time with a towel as he entered the kitchen. “I think I still got some stuck in my ears…”

“Well, at least you’re not flying anymore,” you pointed out.

“Yeah. Thank God for that.”

You rinsed the final bowl and placed it on the dishrack. “How does canned soup sound for dinner? I don’t think I’m in the mood to really cook…”

Stan waved a hand in the air dismissively. “I don’t think we’re in the mood to do _anything_ after all of that, so don’t sweat it. We’ll fix something up ourselves.”

You faintly laughed, reaching for a loaf of bread and placing a few slices in the toaster. You didn’t want to tell them, but you were ravenous for a PB and J. 

“That was... uh, pretty brave of you back there, you know?” Stan went on, wrapping the towel around his neck.

“I guess. Honestly, I don’t know _what_ happened. I suppose the adrenaline got the best of me…?”

As you went to get the jam out of the cupboard, something felt odd. A shiver crept up your back as your legs suddenly gave in from under you. Stan caught you just in time before you hit your head on the counter.

“Jeez! You okay?”

You shakily nodded. “S-sorry. ‘Still getting used to gravity again…”

“Hmm.”

Stan slowly guided you to the kitchen table. You felt lightheaded, but you stubbornly tried to shake out of his grip.

“Stan, I’m fine, really-”

_“Sit.”_

The sudden serious shift in Stan’s tone forced you to drop into a chair. The toaster popped.

“You pushed yourself too hard,” he said, passing you a glass of water and your dry toast on a chipped plate that he had quickly dried off the rack.

“Yeah, I guess I did,” you muttered dejectedly.

“You know, it’s okay to ask for help once in a while,” Stan said flatly, taking the jar of strawberry jam out of your hands. He struggled with the lid for a bit before it gave in with a pop, and slid it back to you. “You don’t have to act so tough in front of us.”

“What do you mean?”

Stan rolled his eyes rather annoyed. “Come on, I saw you flinching all day moving stuff around, you kept refusing my help to help you walk _and_ you didn’t sleep at all before we started on the attic. You almost got ripped apart yesterday and we all almost got literally thrown out of the house. Don’t you think it’s time to catch a break?”

You sighed. “Maybe I should have saved the cleaning for another day, then, huh?”

Stan laughed. “You think? Though to be fair, I don’t think I’ve seen the kitchen literally _sparkle_ before.”

“Must be from the excess pixie dust that got mixed with the soap.”

“I could have done it, you know.”

“Ford could have, too,” you mumbled through a mouthful of toast. “After he vacuumed me off, he just ran back off into his room.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Poindexter for you,” Stan said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He likes his books and monsters more than people, other than…well, me.”

“You guys really are that close, huh?”

“Most of the time…” You could have sworn that there was a tear building up in his eyes, before he scratched his nose and blinked it away. “Look, the point is that I’ll do my job of being the tough guy around here, okay? You just be… yourself. We’re taking care of you, after all.” He scratched his head. "Now, I dunno how much hot water we got left but I’ll get a bath started after you finish eatin’. We don’t have anything fancy like bubble bath, but at least you can have a good soak.”

“Stan…”

“Oh wait, I should probably scrub the tub first, since I guess none of us use it often.”

“Stan?”

“Should probably change those dressings too…”

“STAN!”

_“What?”_

You coughed. “I was _just_ asking if you could get the peanut butter out of the cupboard for me. _Please?_ ”

Stan blinked and then, a moment later, smiled sheepishly. For the second time in a row today, you saw his ears slowly turn red. “Uh…yeah. Sure…”


End file.
